Maybe this is why they say you shouldn’t live with boys?
It was late on a Tuesday night and by this point I had already been to a dozen flat viewings – four that evening alone – and hope was rapidly evaporating. In desperation, I was learning to compromise and give up dreams of a roof terrace, double bed or stand-alone shower. I was even toying with the idea of male flatmates. I had lived with just one boy before and – besides some initial confusing feelings – it had been fine. Granted, we did have separate bathrooms.
I knocked on the door and was greeted by the girl I had been in touch with. We got along right away as she showed me around the flat. The kitchen was huge and there was even a separate dining room, not to mention a downstairs loo and a gorgeous garden out the back. Hope began to seep back in, even when I was faced with the teeny-tiny available bedroom in question.
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The bed rested against the wall while bedside tables, dresser drawers and shelving units jostled for space, squashed together like half-price items at a yard sale, but I remained optimistic. The girl seemed great and the flat was super nice; I could make this work.
Then I saw the bathroom. A multitude of products littered the tub, hair rimmed the sink and it looked like mould had become part of the decor. As a cold wind whistled through gaps in the window, internally, I screamed.
While eyeing off a hasty retreat to the front door, the girl invited me through to the lounge to meet the other housemate. By this point, my expectations were on the floor and I was well and truly ready to call it a day.
But then I met Liam and finally understood the meaning of a perfectly chiselled jawline.
Exceptionally cute with dark hair, a strong beard, and arms so masculine you just want to be wrapped up in them, he was a juxtaposition of rugged and refined. With kind eyes and a great smile, I melted into the floor.
Stumbling over my words and trying to stop the heat from reaching my cheeks, I feigned interest in the property and we all sat down to chat. The conversation soon flowed from real estate to jobs, hometowns and life in the city, and – so distracted by my focus on attempting not to flirt, well at least overtly – an hour flew by. By the time I left, I was thanking them and telling them I’d be in touch.
But, despite fantasies of wandering around the flat in cute pjs and accidentally leaving the shower in just a towel, I knew I didn’t want the flat. This was great, because if I had, the housemate would definitely have been off-limits.
However, I knew I needed to see Liam again.
I spilled the goss at work the next day and, urged on by my colleagues, I fired off a text to the girl housemate.